Willikin was up early the following morning, not
out of choice, but by courtesy of the girl at the hotel’s reception
desk, who insisted on dragging him out of a deep sleep by calling him on
the telephone. A telegram had just been delivered and was evidently
marked ‘URGENT, URGENT, URGENT’. Rather than telling the young lady what
she could do with the obviously over assuming communication, in his
sleepy state, Willikin gave instructions to have the telegram brought up
to his room and begrudgingly crawled out of his bed to receive it. It
was from the US head office in New York and had come via the Miami Home:
BEEN TRYING TO PHONE YOU STOP JUST ARRIVED IN NY STOP FLYING DOWN STOP
and it was signed UNCLE.

As Willikin sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes in the dim light
he wondered how his quick-tempered uncle would take to the news that he
would not be staying in the relative comfort of the Home during his stay
but in some out-of-the-way hostelry in an unfamiliar part of the city.
As he got up he refolded the telegram, put it in the breast pocket of
his pyjamas and smiled at Stone’s probable reaction. He could hear him
saying: “Who the hell does Spinosa, that trumped up little fart, think
he is? If the place is full we’ll have his bungalow and he can rough it
at the hotel.” It would be just like his uncle to do it as well - or at
least try. But with Spinosa as his adversary he might not find it such
an easy task.

Willikin walked to the window. As he stood, bare footed, gazing through
the half-opened curtains to misty Miami beyond, the previous day’s frustrations
filled his mind. What his uncle would make of Spinosa was fairly easy to
predict. Stone had a passion for straight, no-nonsense talking and
wouldn’t much appreciate Spinosa’s somewhat restrained approach. Stone
would probably throw in the towel within minutes of attempting to strike
up a conversation and dismiss Spinosa as a time-wasting pain in the
arse. Willikin smiled at the probable encounter then reflected that it
wasn’t so much what Spinosa had said the previous day that was bothering
him, but what he omitted to say. His outward manner was deceiving to say
the least and seemed to suggest a completely different character to the
one Willikin had got to know and admire through his monthly reports.
They were the epitome of a go-ahead, far-sighted executive and displayed
aggression, determination and an exacting, positive quality coupled with
an openness Willikin had never before seen in any executive in his
employ. But on meeting the man, Willikin was left convinced that if he
had been sitting in on the series of interviews to find the new
executive-in-charge of the
Miami
Home, Spinosa wouldn’t have even made the short list. How the visionary
from the New York
office managed to see through him at the interviews was beyond him, but
see through him they did, and as a consequence of their inspired
judgement and Spinosa’s subsequent appointment the Home was currently
witnessing an astonishing turnabout of fortune. From being the black
sheep of the family it was fast approaching the status of being the most
profitable. And this in just three months.

Four months earlier, Willikin had anticipated that his next visit to
Miami would be to officially close down the Home. Then it was not only
flagging behind the other Homes in the chain but was being financially
supported by them and was proving such a drain on available resources
that closure seemed the next logical step. But then along came Spinosa.
He was appointed as a last ditch attempt to salvage something from the
Home. He had never before worked with the elderly but came highly
recommended as a master of business strategy (from a small local
laundromat business!), which he quickly proved to the surprise of
everyone. His first monthly report was not only an eye-opener but also a
virtual showstopper in its composure. And now, three months after his
appointment, he was performing positive miracles. The icing on the cake
was in his latest report that stated that the Home had achieved “a
no-vacancy situation” and even mentioned the existence of a waiting
list. Money was rolling in at an alarming rate. No other Home was in
such a fortunate position. Spinosa had clearly achieved what everyone,
including Willikin, had considered impossible.

But despite the magnitude of Spinosa’s achievements, Willikin had to
admit that his uncle’s probable assessment of his executive as a pain in
the arse was very near to the truth. Willikin was feeling decidedly
frustrated at Spinosa’s reluctance to open up and could see no apparent
reason for it. In fact, he had anticipated his visit would have prompted
the exact opposite reaction. It was, after all, a perfect opportunity
for Spinosa to blow his own trumpet and boast openly to his boss of how
he single-handedly transformed the Home. It was to hear such pearls of
wisdom that Willikin had made the trip to Miami in the first place.
A special one-off trip to seek knowledge from someone outside his usual
circle of advisers. And he had decided to make the journey in person
rather than send one of his senior administrators to do the job for him.
“Secrets of success,” he thought. The expression was decidedly apt as
far as Spinosa was concerned.

Willikin sighed heavily, crossed the room to where he had left his
luggage the night before, took out his toiletry things and set off in
the direction of the bathroom. The quicker he got ready then the quicker
he could get to the bottom of the problem that was Spinosa and the
secrets of his success.

At 78, Willikin was the complete and dedicated businessman. No other
love - mortal or otherwise - ever turned his head or captivated his
heart as his brainchild, the chain of Homes for the elderly bearing his
name. Almost every waking hour - and many of his sleeping ones as well -
were filled with affairs of business of one form or another. He might
preach the dispassionate approach to business to his juniors - and
passionately believe that ideal to be the essential stance for any
responsible businessman - but as far as he was concerned it was an ideal
impossible to achieve. With very few days off and little or no thought
of slowing down, he would repeatedly force his ageing frame into daily
activity and with such obvious enthusiasm that it left the ambitious
junior management wishing for a less exacting example from which to draw
inspiration. If succeeding in the context of The Rudyard Willikin Homes
Consortium meant measuring up to the old powerhouse then life was
certainly going to get tougher as they got older. They were of the
opinion that businessmen at Willikin’s time of life should be put out to
pasture to make way for the up and coming younger generation; they
should be thinking of taking it easy and start yearning for the quiet
life and retirement. But not for Willikin. For most businessmen,
retirement is viewed as their opportunity to take it easy and to spend
time with their wives, for so long ignored; and an opportunity to do all
those things they never had time for when in business. A form of reward
for past accomplishments and a life-long job well done. Willikin, with
no wife, and a head full of accomplishments yet unaccomplished, and an
appreciation of business life that put it on the same level as a
perpetually young love, daily took to heart the maxim that life begins
at 40, which currently made him a mature 38, with not too long to go
before he experienced rebirth for the second time around.

However, his reflection in the bathroom mirror told a very different
story. Within himself, Willikin felt a young stripling, bursting with
enthusiasm and vitality. Outside, his mask to the world, was of a
serious man in the late autumn of his life with a silvery grey
complexion that perfectly matched his hair and the stubble on his chin.

Willikin was impatient to get the day’s activities under way and started
toying with the notion that as he was up he may as well rush them along
by turning up at the home in time for breakfast. However, by the time he
was dressed he had already changed his mind. Despite his growing anxiety
it would be an unwise move. Why go looking for criticism. The staff
might even interpret his early morning arrival as his way of checking up
on them, which was definitely not the case. For he fully expected that
at the end of the day he would be praising each and every one of them
for their sterling efforts over the last few months.

At length, he decided instead to go for a pre-breakfast walk. If he was
being forced to stay at the Bella Bella then he may as well make an
effort and see the local sights. He announced his intentions to the
cleaners in the lobby who were highly amused. He had to be English, they
agreed, as he left.

Outside, the noise and smells dominated, and seemed unmistakably
familiar. Another picture-postcard day in prospect, he thought, and
turned left and set off down the hill.

He would only walk around the block, he decided, and set off briskly. As
he came to the end of the narrow street he was surprised to see that,
despite it being such an early hour, the place was a hive of activity,
with cars bumper to bumper, full of people on their way to work, or back
from it. The smell of fumes in the still, dusty air was almost
overpowering. He turned left into the road and made quickly for the next
side turning which would lead back up the hill past the rear of the
hotel. The noise of car radios, engines and loud, almost shouting talk
made him step up his pace, and as he bustled along he noticed he was the
only pedestrian. “So much for the petrol crisis,” he muttered turning
into the side road and changed pace again. As he ambled along, pleased
at leaving the noise and fumes behind him, he was startled by a young
couple who seemed to pop up from nowhere. They had emerged from stairs
leading down to a basement apartment. They were wearing matching
tracksuits. On seeing him they both smiled and one greeted him with a
loud “Hi!” She looked very young to Willikin. Her tight-fitting outfit
showed off her slender figure and her hair, which was dark and short,
exposed her small, bright-eyed face. Willikin responded with a
restrained twitch of a wave and a mouthed “Good morning.” The couple set
off and ran past him back down the hill. So young, two fine examples of
the enthusiastic generation encouraged to question everything. A far cry
from the predicament he felt himself in at their age. His father had
forced the medical profession on him and the young Willikin couldn’t
question any part of the old man’s decision. All Willikin’s expectations
of medical college were very quickly realised. He found it deadly dull,
too demanding, and as far as he was concerned, without any startling
prospects in the small and diminishing rural community in which his
father’s practice was centred, and still he had to study, and study
hard. It was largely due to the perseverance of his uncle, Dr Stone,
that he passed his final exams. However, on the death of his father, he
gave up the family practice and turned his talents elsewhere. The idea
of having a captive audience in the form of paying elderly residents
tempted him beyond endurance.

Willikin saw the young couple go and smiled at the parallel. He was
again a student, this time with Spinosa as his tutor. But to his
frustration his tutor was for some reason refusing to teach. The
previous day’s non-conversation still puzzled him, and remembering his
thoughts earlier his smile quickly dissolved at the prospect of the day
ahead.

Willikin passed the rear of the hotel and was distracted by the smells
of breakfast emanating from the basement kitchens. He quickened his pace
and as he started on the home straight to the hotel, he was thinking
again of his uncle. They had last met around a fortnight before when
Stone had insisted he was too busy even to talk. Together with his young
protégé, Dickie, he was investigating one of the projects earmarked to
have future business potential. Why had Stone flown to
New York, and why the urgent telegram?

Willikin’s thoughts were interrupted by a bearded man on the steps of
the hotel, who greeted him as if he was an old friend. “Good morning
Doctor Willikin, it’s good to see you again.” The man stretched out and
shook Willikin’s hand warmly. Willikin looked up, studied the man’s
face, then remembered. “It’s Sidney...Cameron, isn’t it,” he said at
last.

“Yes sir, it is. I haven’t seen you for a long time. I hope you’re
well.”

Willikin returned the greeting and then invited Cameron to breakfast.
“Mr Spinosa thought you might want to start early,” said Cameron as they
approached the dining room. “We’re all ready for you at the Home.”

Willikin turned his head and smiled. “That’s typical of your boss,” he
said. “Always doing the unexpected!” and then added that he looked
forward to meeting everyone.

“When I say all,” said Cameron, who had worked at the Home since it
opened, “that’s all except for Margaret Templeton. She left this morning
to visit relatives. Called away, I think. It was all rather sudden. I
took her to the airport before I came here.”

“That’s a shame,” said Willikin as they arrived at their table. “I
wanted to meet her. Your boss speaks very highly of her.”

“Does she indeed. I don’t remember the name,” said Willikin, who then
turned his attention to the menu before him. Gesturing to the waiter, he
added: “Do you know if she will be away for long?” Cameron shook his
head. “Well let’s hope not. It’s always nice to renew old
acquaintances,” said Willikin. “Talking of which, tell me everything
that’s happened to you since we last met,” and the two of them settled
down to a quiet breakfast. Consortium business could wait.